Never Would Have Thought of That

I hate my stove.  And not just because as a cook, I make an excellent woodworker. 

I hate my stove because it was a POS when it was new.  It was the cheapest one the dude who built my house could find in the scratch n' dent aisle of Sears.  It's 13 years old now, and time has not been good to it.  It's not level. If it ever was.  Making an omelette is an intricate Pas de bourrée combining the cat-like reflexes of a Ninja and the attempt to defy gravity.  It's true what they say:  Eggs Roll Downhill (or something like that).  Pancakes are just as bad.  My children think all pancakes are oval and burnt on one end.  And before you ask, yes I know stoves can be adjusted, but the feet on this one are irrevocably "gunked" in place by 13 years of kitchen particulate.  Every attempt has grossed me out so badly that learning the Danse Culinaire seemed easier.

The oven underneath the stove is just as bad.  It heats so unevenly that a 20-minute tray of tater-tots requires no less than 6 separate adjustments to brown evenly.  During which operation I am guaranteed to burn myself somehow.  It's like being shackled to a 200lb Rube Goldberg experiment for the duration of all food prep.

But hey, at least we have a stove.  I mean, microwaved tatertots would be pretty bad fare, even by my standards.  I've just been waiting for the damn thing to finally blow out some way, so we could replace it with something better.  A bonfire on the floor, say.

Forward-thinking parents that we are, Phillip and I have lately embarked on a crusade to teach our children to feed themselves.  We sometimes make them prepare meals.  This is partly so we will feel confident when we throw them outta here that they won't starve, and partly because they are ALWAYS hungry, and we get sick of feeding them.

It was just such a situation on Saturday, when Phillip instructed Lindsay and Campbell to begin preparing the evening meal.  We smugly relaxed in the living room, awaiting any call for assistance ("Mom, which one is the Boiling Knob?").

And that's when the sickening crash, followed by shrieks and cries emitted from the kitchen:

I gathered the sobbing Campbell into my arms, checking him all over for injuries (of which there were none, thanks God), while Phillip calmed the hyperventilating Lindsay ("I didn't do it, Dad; it wasn't me!").  I think she may have had a coffee table flashback.

I actually laughed when I saw that stoopid stovetop.  When you drop the lid to the Dutch oven from a fairly good height onto the ceramic stovetop, the result is pretty much what you'd expect.  What a clever shortcut to the new stove we've been needing!  Thanks, Campbell.  How come I never did that?

We ordered Pizza.  And then waited for the appliance store to open the next day.

Which was a good thing, because the washing machine started to make a horrible screaming noise (even louder than the one in my head), later that night. 

My house has become the Elephant Graveyard of appliances.  For those not keeping track, The list of things requiring replacement within the last 8 days it goes like this:

1.    Coffee table top (Not really an appliance, but definitely a catalyst)
2.    Spray arm in dishwasher (Did I mention we were already washing by hand?)
3.    Kitchen Stove/Oven (See above)
4.    Washing Machine (OK, Household Chaos Gnomes, this is No Longer Funny)

We priced refrigerators while we were at the appliance place, just to steel ourselves against the sticker shock, in case that's next.

And on the way home, the "Maintenance Required" light came on in the car.

If I just wreck the car, can I get a new one?

Buzz Gets Out

A student of mine from Montana was blowing through town and invited me to lunch.  She asked me to recommend a yarn shop where we could meet, so I suggested Happy Knits, in southeast Portland.

What do you suppose I found when we got there?

Some baby Bees, realized in subtle, earthy shades of Shetland Spindrift.  I love this sweater a little bit more every time another knitter makes one.

I never get over the thrill of seeing a book that I made on the shelf in somebody's store, but this, this is another level of delight, entirely.  There'll be no living with me now.

I autographed all their copies of my book.  If you don't have one yet, please drop by this gorgeous shop and get one.  If you do, stop in anyway and pet the beautiful yarn.  They encourage that sort of behavior there; hence the Happy-ness.  And if distance prevents you from doing either of those, you can even get dreamy things from them online, next time the spirit moves you.

Happy,

Happy,

Happy.

 

Finishing School

After my coffee table base was refinished, I picked out some rustic reclaimed Alder at the lumberyard for the new top.  My thought was that if it were rough and gnarly to begin with, any mistakes I made with the finish would just look like more patina.  And the inevitable bumps and bangs it gets from use won't pain me at all.  Or so I hope.

I had it all glued up and was planing the surface of the boards before it occurred to me that I have never made a tabletop before.  The hand plane was in a box of tools that had belonged to my dad.  He wasn't a huge woodworker, but he loved tools like I love yarn.  His collection was epic, and included so many duplicates that my brother gave me a set when he inherited the stash.  When I adjusted the blade, there were tiny curls of mahogany still underneath it; probably from some boat project.  Dad's were the last hands to adjust that blade before mine.  It was a little like visiting him to hold the plane and push it against the wood.  I liked the way the plane on the hardwood made curly wood ribbons.

I don't know from whence this wood was reclaimed, but I think it's nice that it has its own past.  I like thinking about what the boards would say if they could talk. 

I sanded.  And I sanded.  And I sanded some more.  I moved the project inside when it rained.  I moved it out when it stopped.  The table and I have now been through a lot together, and we are both better for it.

I left the boards a little bit "cupped" in places; I can feel a wee bit of the the curve of the planks when I run my hands over them.  I like being reminded that my table was once a tree.  And I was good and tired of sanding.  I stained the top a rich honey shade to highlight its irregularities.

Many thanks to Maria H. for reminding me about the olive oil and sugar paste for removing roughness on your hands when you work with silk - works like a charm!

I framed the edge of the tabletop with this sweet little carved moulding.  Makes it look like something a girl would make.  Which it is.  I varnished. And I sanded.  Again. And Again. 

And now I can work again.  Let the knitting commence.